Tickles,Tents and Thawing
by CaiusAmnellDamodred
Summary: A love blossoms between two soldiers. Theirs is a miraculous love. My first story. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:  
Natasha backed up, giving ground as her opponents came at her from both sides. Ducking and weaving, she evaded their blows, unable to put in her own just yet, her eyes narrowed in concentration, waiting for her opportunity, knowing one of them would make a mistake. Sure enough, one of her assailants leapt forward, thinking to overwhelm her smaller size with his muscle, pressing his perceived advantage. Stepping aside smoothly, she grabbed his wrist, flipping him over her, and in midair, planted a firm kick to his midriff that sent him flying into her second assailant, the two of them colliding heavily and falling into a stack of equipment, yelling as they sought to disentangle themselves . Smiling inwardly, she dived forward in a perfect front hand spring, coming up in a fighting stance. Her opponents were tangled in some netting that had somehow wrapped around their legs, and they were hopelessly ensnared.

Pausing in his struggle long enough to make eye contact, Steve Rogers grimaced at the mocking eyebrow that she directed at him, a moment that was broken as Clint Barton accidentally stabbed his elbow into his neck. Natasha grinned widely, as she spread her arms over her head and leapt across the gym floor in a series of perfect gymnastic flips. Her last flip took her directly to the opposite side of a table loaded with weapons, and as she landed, she grabbed a Glock, cocked it, and fired two shots at the two men , that had freed themselves and were now charging towards her. Steve was in front, his superserum giving him greater speed, but it was at Clint that Natasha fired at first, letting Steve draw in closer, before she fired her second shot, timing it just so, so that his super-reflexes couldn't let him dodge the shot. As the men dropped down, red blossoming across their chest, Natasha looked down in surprise at a patch of red that had appeared on her chest.

_"Derr'mo,"_she swore in her native tongue, "You got me Captain."

Steve lifted his head from where he lay supine on the floor.

"You've shared a few of your moves with me ma'am," he said, his charmingly boyish smile breaking across his normally taciturn face, "And it's about time I got one on you."  
The scoreboard that hung against a wall on one side of the gym carried various combination of Avenger outcomes, and so far the Black Widow held the lead in take downs.  
"Glad to have been of service Captain," Natasha laughed, removing the rubber knife handle, and the congealed paint blot from her top, "Clint, you can get up now."

Still lying on the floor where Natasha had 'shot' him, Clint had closed his eyes, crossed one leg over the other and laced his hands behind his head.  
"No thanks Nat. I'm just gonna take a nap now,unless you two are ready for lunch."  
Suddenly he flipped himself over, pulling a blade from the side of his boot and threw it. Natasha and Steve ducked as it flew over their heads, laughing at his lack of sportsmanship and marksmanship - but he hadn't been aiming it at them. The blade sliced through a rope that suspended a vat of ice water over the two unsuspecting heroes, and the deluge came down. Gasping for breath, Steve and Natasha wiped water from their eyes, and started forwards, ready to wreak their vengeance – but the wily marksman had already started running.

Exchanging looks, the two split up, knowing just where the archer would be headed. A silent ten minutes later, Steve was drawn by a yelp , and an ululating war cry, that came from the living room of their floor in Stark Tower. Natasha enjoyed Xena re-runs on T.V. and had perfected the warrior princess's battle cry for her own personal use. Steve walked in on Natasha straddling Clint on the living room floor, Clint begging to be released as Natasha tickled him mercilessly. Steve stood to one side, still sopping wet, and watched as the two wrestled.

He smiled at the banter that passed between them, ignoring the slight ache in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that he would never be able to have the ease and intimacy that the two fighters before him had. He was a man out of time, and more so than that, he was a leader now, and that position brought its own burden of loneliness. Brushing the thought from his mind, freezing it as strongly as he'd once been frozen, he stroked his fingers through his damp hair, realizing he'd better step in before the two of them broke something. As much as he disliked Tony, Mr. Stark had been considerate enough to allow them all to move in, and his mother had brought him up to be considerate. Even though that consideration and politeness were wasted on the man who was as obnoxious as ever, having saved Manhattan, and who still lacked any sense of courtesy. At least it seemed that way to Steve – as antiquated as his manners might be, he had grown up in an era of chivalry, and old habits die hard, which Clint was about to do from lack of oxygen as Natasha had been tickling him non-stop.

"Alright you two," he barked, in his best field sergeant voice, "break it up. I'm starving."  
Natasha leaned back, her hips still straddling Clint. "Aye, aye Captain," she saluted. Clint took advantage of her distraction to flip her over onto her back, before leaning in and stealing a quick peck of her lips. Laughing like a mischievous school boy, he ran for his room, Natasha following close behind, scrubbing at her lips, swearing in Russian. Despite himself, Steve smiled. A man out of time took his friends where he found them, and he had found them in two master assassins, who were as rambunctious as five year olds when off duty. Heading towards his rooms, he peeled off the sodden white shirt that clung to his muscular body.

"Jarvis?" he murmured quietly as he pressed the elevator button.  
_"Yes sir, I've already had your laundry delivered to your rooms, your clothes are being put away as we speak. Is there anything else I can do for you ?"_  
"Thank you Jarvis, yes – could you make a reservation for us at the Ind.."  
_"At the Indian restaurant you went to two weeks ago with the excellent lunch buffet ? Right away sir. Anything else ?"_  
"No, that'll be all Jarvis. Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on Capsicle, I'm a scientist, this is what I do."

Tony Stark was an arrogant man that dug on Steve's nerves most of the time when they weren't on the battlefield, but when he whined and pouted to get his way, Steve's patience wore thin.

" I've told you , the superserum prevents me from getting drunk. I burn through the alcohol too quickly- my metabolism is extremely high," he said crisply, between mouthfuls of a large turkey sandwich.  
"And I've told you to call me Tony," Stark retorted, as he came around the table and made eye contact with Steve.

"Look Cap', if you can't get drunk, you can't get drunk. The least I can do is have some fun trying to get you there. And it'll be a good chance for the two of us to chat – you know, _mano a mano_. Besides Bruce is out of town, Peppers off somewhere else and I have no one else to play with – I'm bored. "  
Steve looked dubiously at Tony, chewing silently as he pondered Tony's suggestion. He couldn't see the harm in being courteous – after all, he couldn't get drunk, and perhaps was a nicer gentleman after a few drinks. Swallowing , he nodded his assent.

"Atta boy Cap !", Tony exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. " We'll have a ton of fun, you and me. Come on up to my lab at , ooh, let's say … seven-thirty? Jarvis !" Tony was already striding out of the room, calling Jarvis to place an order for copious amounts of beer and liquor.

Steve continued to eat his sandwich, mulling over the potential ramifications of his future evening plans. He'd sipped some of Bucky's whiskey once, from a flask his friend had hidden, and he'd been fairly woozy afterwards, but this had been before the superserum injection, and that memory was fast fading. Perhaps after decades in the ice , his system processed the serum differently, and he might be able to get drunk after all . Stark certainly had access to funds that could most definitely make it possible.

At seven-thirty, Steve arrived at Stark's lab door, which slid open to let him in. Tony was at one end of the lab arranging what turned out to be an alarming number of bottles.  
"Hey, hey, it's the Capsicle!"Tony called out , walking towards him with two large glass tumblers filled with a potently smelling dark brown fluid. "Everything's been chilled , figured after a few decades on ice , you'd prefer if your drinks weren't on them either."  
Rolling his eyes at the cheap pun, Steve accepted the glass of whiskey, the fumes emanating from it enough to make his eyes water. Stark clinked their glasses together, and took a swig.

" That's some good stuff. Come and join me Cap', let me show you what else we have for you this evening."

Whiskey, tequila,vodka,beer – Stark had nearly fifty different types of alcohol, and fifty more on standby. Stark's plan was , he explained, Stark himself would stick to whiskey, and they would try various combinations of alcohol on the Captain. Technically mixing lead to alcohol poisoning and hangovers, but, if the Captain was unable to get drunk, that wouldn't be an issue, and if they succeeded in getting him drunk, they'd at least know how much it took to do so.

Two hours later, and fifteen combinations of alcohol inside him, Steve was still sober. Besides giving him a burning sensation as he swallowed it , and also causing him to need to use the bathroom more frequently, the alcohol was having absolutely no effect on his system. Tony on the other hand...  
Steve sipped politely on his current drink , a rum and coke, and watched as Stark stumbled around the room with a can of beer in one hand, poking at touch screens with the other.

"Jarvis, run a diagnoshtick on the Capshickle will you," he slurred , as he took another swig from his drink. "I shink he should be at least buzzed by now."  
A monitor dutifully approached the Captain, an aperture at one hand emitting a thin beam of red light that scanned the Captain from head to toe. A few seconds later, Jarvis chimed in.  
_"The Captain sir, is still quite sober. The only aberrations are a higher functioning bladder."_  
Tony snickered at Jarvis's report.  
"I knew that,"he laughed, "I just thought it'd be funny to hear Jarvis say 'higher functioning bladder"."

He continued to laugh at his own joke as he joined Steve on the couch. He sprawled across the seat, cradling his drink between his legs, and peered blearily at Steve.  
"You know Cap', maybe the reason you can't get drunk, is because you're too straight-laced."  
Steve looked at Tony , his jaw clenching slightly. Stark seemed to be heading down a path of insults, and Steve was not in the mood for his banter.  
"I'm serious Cap'," Tony continued, deliberately ignoring the spasm of irritation that crossed Steve's face," good ole soldier boys are like puppets. Incapable of thinking about anything unless someone tells you what to do, and cocking it up even then. Maybe the reason you can't get drunk is cos you're too focused on being pure and dull and boring."  
Tony snorted derisively, chugging the last of his beer.

" It's probably how Loki got Barton so easily," Tony mused, "a blank mind just waiting for something to slip in and take control of it – probably how your mind is right now."  
Steve didn't remember standing up, but suddenly he was on his feet, his drink forgotten, fists curled at his side.  
"Stop it Stark," he said quietly, refusing to give in to the anger that was flaring through him, "Back off now. You're crossing lines."  
"How about I back off right after ?" Tony threw back, his tone challenging. "You're cut from the same cloth as him. Jump when you're told, incapable of original thought. Just mindless bodies, waiting to be used…which is pretty much what Loki did. I mean look at you – you flew a plane into ice, and stayed there for years, and Barton just stood there and let a goth-wannabe E.T. prince waltz in and nearly destroy the world. Both of you useless as cattle – Barton should've stayed brain-dead with Loki, for all the use he is."

Steve didn't know what had happened to him. Stepping forward, he grabbed Stark by his collar, lifting him up in to the air and punching him square in the face. The force of the blow hurled Stark across the room, slamming into a desk and shattering the ornaments on it, before Stark crumpled to the floor. He groaned as he shifted in the debris, looking up at Steve as he walked across the room.

"You insult me a lot Stark," Steve said, his voice surprisingly quiet, despite the violence of his actions.  
"You insult me a lot, and I put up with it. But you don't speak ill about a man that has been more of a friend to me in all the past months than you have ever been. You do not dismiss the value he brings to this team. And you do not wish that he'd continued to be raped by Loki. You do not."

Stark laughed darkly, spitting out a little blood.  
"Funny thing about me Cap. You don't tell me what to do," he snarled, as he pulled his hand up and blasted Steve with one of the gauntlets from the Ironman suit.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint and Natasha had gone out for dinner, and upon returning home, got changed and headed to the gym. Clint was working on some rapid fire techniques for his shooting, and Natasha kept him company as he did so, moving through a series of yoga poses , critiquing Clint's shooting as she did so. The new technique was intense, and Clint called it quits after forty-five minutes, his shoulders feeling wrenched.

Coming out of downward dog, Natasha smiled at him, patting the mat she'd set up beside her with a towel spread across it. Smiling in relief, Clint stripped off his shirt and lay down, as Natasha pulled a bottle of ointment from her pack. A special compilation from S.H.I.E.L.D, it helped with healing aches and pains, and Natasha had known Clint long enough to know that if she'd not been around, he'd have been unable to sleep that night. She worked the ointment into his shoulder joint, and started working on his tense back muscles, her strong hands kneading knots and relaxing muscle fibers. Natasha smiled to herself as she worked, humming a little ditty, as she amused herself with the thought that as an assassin, she could just as easily paralyze Clint with this massage , as make him feel better. The dual aspect of reality she mused, even though the binary ideology was antiquated. It made for simplistic philosophical wanderings.

"Penny for your thoughts," Clint murmured, from his prone position on the floor.  
" Just thinking – pleasure and pain principles, duality, blah blah blah," she shared, pressing down on a particularly stubborn knot, eliciting an appreciative gasp from Clint. Wiping her hands free of the oily ointment, she shifted position, coming at the shoulder from a different angle.  
" You were thinking about how you'd be able to kill me with a massage, weren't you," Clint chided.  
"Only a little."  
She grinned as the knot came loose, the muscle movement relaxed once more.

A tingle of electricity shot through her, and she was on her feet, eyes and ears alert. Something was happening, she could feel it. Beside her, Clint was up as well, reaching for his quiver.  
"Nat, what is it?" he whispered, as he grabbed his arrows.  
Before she could respond, Jarvis chimed in.  
_"Mr Stark and have been drinking together, and they are now attempting to bring down the tower. An intervention on your parts might be necessary."_

"Pull up a security feed Jarvis," Clint ordered, moving to a panel on a wall. The screen flickered, and they saw into Tony's lab. Steve was huddled behind the bar, ducking a shot that Tony had fired from his gauntlet. As the fire subsided, Steve grabbed a bottle and threw it, though his aim was slightly off as Tony opened fire again.  
"Budapest?" Natasha inquired, as she watched the screen speculatively.  
"No, not Budapest…Toronto," Clint responded. Natasha was obsessed with Budapest.  
"Toronto?...Alright. Stark ?"  
" Yeap. Captain."  
"Let's go."

Passing Natasha a tranquilizer arrow, the two assassins moved to a corner of the room, where a silver airduct jutted out slightly from the ceiling. Stepping swiftly onto Clint's shoulders, Natasha popped the vent, and crawled in, clutching the arrow tightly. As she climbed, Clint headed for the main hallway. As he sprinted for the elevator, he found himself praying fervently that Steve would be alright.  
Twenty seconds later, he found himself on Tony's floor. The corridor was filled with smoky, though not enough to impact his vision or his breathing. Nocking an arrow to his bow, he crept forward towards Tony's lab, following the raised voices. The two men seemed to have reached a stalemate, exchanging barbs instead of weapons. As he neared the door, he heard the beginnings of an exchange, that left him chilled  
"I always said everything special about you came out of a bottle," Stark rasped, his voice rough, no doubt from the drinking and the yelling.  
"Look who's talking," Steve retorted, " I'm not the one who's swallowing everything that's in a bottle in this room. Maybe you're trying to be me."  
"Why would I want to be you Cap'? So I can be a blonde muscle boy that has someone else's hand up my ass ? Not that you'd know anything about that would you Cap ?"

Steve chose to respond by hurling a bottle at Tony, which triggered another blast from the gauntlet. Taking that as his cue, Clint dived into the room, turning a somersault and firing his arrow at Steve who was hiding behind the bar. At the same time, Natasha dropped down from the air duct behind Tony, and stabbed him with her arrow, before Tony could accidentally blast Clint. The tranquilizer would last for 3 minutes on a regular human , which Clint estimated gave him 30 seconds to get Steve out of there. Dropping his bow, he pulled the taller man over his shoulders in a fireman's lift, and hurried out of the room, as Natasha dragged Tony, none too gently, towards his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint barely managed to get Steve to his room before the tranquilizer wore off – thankfully the dose had given him an extra minute that he hadn't anticipated. He had eased Steve onto his bed and stepped back before the Captain came around. Clint was impressed. Apart from a destroyed shirt, most of Steve's injuries were superficial, cuts that needed to be cleaned, a particularly bloody one right above his eye that might require stitching. He realized he was still shirtless, not having taken the time to dress again when Jarvis had chimed in earlier, and smiled to himself at how he must have looked, flipping into Stark's lab, shirtless and gleaming, firing arrows.  
"A modern day hero," he murmured to himself, allowing himself a chuckle, leaning against the wall, and watching as Steve regained consciousness.

Steve looked around, surprised to find himself in his room, even more surprised to find a shirtless Clint there with him. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Clint's bare muscular torso.  
"What happened,"he asked, reaching up to examine the cut above his eye. Clint moved quickly to intercept him.  
"Natasha and I had to step in. You and Stark were getting out of hand. I hit you with a tranq-row," Clint explained.  
"A tranq-row?," Steve asked, confused .  
"Oh – a tranquilizer arrow," Clint clarified. "Stark got one too, Natasha stabbed him with it."

Steve snickered, catching himself as Clint looked at him in amazement. He couldn't imagine Captain America snickering. He'd seen Steve politely smile at the antics he and Natasha went through, but he never thought he'd see the normally dower man snicker. He watched as Steve resumed his normal facial expression, and felt a pang of regret at having made the man pull himself back. Placing a First Aid Kit on the bed, Clint pulled on surgical gloves , and grabbed the antiseptic spray and some swabs.

"Please remove your shirt," he said, in his most lecherous pornstar-doctor voice, waggling his eyebrows at Steve, who chuckled obligingly and stripped off his shirt, wincing as a cut on his chest twinged. Clint had seen the Captain shirtless several times, but he was constantly impressed by the man's stunning physique. His mind flashed to a scene from a movie he'd seen with Natasha recently, where some mildly cute guy had pulled off his shirt ,and his love interest had exclaimed in frustration , "It's like you're photoshopped!". Clint couldn't stop the smile that reached his face, as he pictured the same young woman looking at Steve's intense body right now. He figured there'd definitely be drool involved.

His reverie was broken by Steve, demanding to know what was so funny. Clint explained, moving closer , hands gentle as he swabbed the cut over the Captain's eye. Steve relaxed, closing his eyes , and letting Clint do his work. The seconds ticked by, and Clint was finally done. No stitches necessary, and it seemed unlikely the Captain would die of a random infection.  
"There, all done," he quipped, sitting back and removing his gloves.  
Steve opened his eyes, his hand reaching up to inspect the bandage that covered the cut. Clint grabbed his hand before he could mess up his handiwork.  
"Thank you, ," Steve smiled, "Can I have a lollipop?"  
Barton barked out a laugh, though his mind was in a slight uproar. Steve's hand was surprisingly soft, but strong, and combined with the beatific smile that had spread across his face, Clint's heart was beating a little faster than it should have been. Blaming it on post-adventure adrenaline, Clint laughed, and cuffed Steve on the shoulder as he stood up.  
"Maybe once you've cleaned up a little. Why don't you hit the shower, and explain to me what happened with Stark ?"  
Steve's smile dropped so fast, it might never have been there. Ignoring the sudden change of expression, Clint moved to the dresser, pulling out a shirt, pants, and a towel, giving the Captain time to think. As he pulled open the drawer containing underpants, he was amused to see that after six months, Steve had finally made the switch from boxers to boxer briefs. He even had a fun looking red pair in there. The man was definitely full of surprises, Clint mused, as he grabbed a pair of plain black boxer briefs, and added it to his turned around, arms full, and walked towards the Captain, who was now standing sheepishly at the foot of the bed.

"Well ? I think I deserve an explanation ... why'd Natasha and I have to come in, and save Stark Towers from being completely destroyed, by Captain America and Tony Stark no less?"  
Steve took the pile of clothing from Clint, murmuring his thanks, not quite making eye contact. He moved to the bathroom, leaving Clint alone in the room. Exhaling in frustration, Clint cleaned up the gauze and gloves, dumping them into the garbage disposal unit that led to the incinerator. He helped himself to one of Steve's plain white t-shirts, and sat on the bed, waiting for the Captain to come out. He realized that from his vantage point, he could see into the bathroom, the door of which the Captain had left ajar.

Steve was leaning in front of the mirror, still half dressed, looking at his face in the reflection, his expression one of conflict. With a sigh, he straightened up, moving to unbutton the front snap of his pants. Clint found himself unable to look away, even though his inner voice was ordering him to,_"Look away Clint. Give the man his privacy Clint. Come on Clint, don't be pervy. He's your friend Clint. He's Captain friggen America. He's….hot damn. Wow."_  
Clint stared wide eyed, as Steve slowly slid his pants off, the fabric rustling against his incredibly muscular legs, leaving him standing there in a pair of pale blue boxer briefs , that clung to his frame, emphasizing the curves on his very impressive posterior. Pausing to place the pants into a laundry basket, Steve leaned into the shower cubicle, turning the faucet on, letting the shower warm up. He then turned around and slipped his hands under his waistband, ready to tug them down. Clint ripped his eyes away at last . There were some lines he wasn't going to cross, and seeing Captain America completely naked without his knowing, seemed way too wrong.

"Jarvis," he croaked ," How're Nat and Tony doing ?"  
_" is currently connecting to an I.V. to sober him up. He's still unconscious, but his injuries have been tended to. He was mostly bruised, with minor cuts on his arms. Is there anything else I can do for you sir ?"_  
"No, thanks Jarvis."  
Steve's voice echoed from the bathroom.  
"Was that Jarvis ? Is Stark alive?"  
"Yeah, he's good, Natasha's with him now. He should be coming around in a while. Do you want anything?"  
"Would it be alright if Jarvis brought us in some food. I'm starving."  
"Sure thing Cap. The usual ?"  
"Yes please. Thank you Clint."  
"No problemo Captain. Jarvis ?"  
_"Yes sir, Mr Roger's usual is on its way up. I took the liberty of adding some things for your own consumption."_  
"Thank you Jarvis."  
Clint settled back onto the bedspread, facing the doorway, not trusting himself to peek into the bathroom.

Steve stood under the showerhead, letting the hot water pound down on his skin. He was grateful for Clint's company , but he didn't want to cause his friend unnecessary pain. He reached up to massage his hair, fingers brushing against the bandage that Clint had placed on his cut.  
He smiled , remembering the gentleness the deadly archer had used, the way those hard calloused hands had cared for him, idly wondering how Clint's lovers felt when he placed those hands on them.

The thought brought a jolt to his body, and he found himself staring down at an unexpected arousal.  
_" Did I just…thinking about .. Clint ? Pull yourself together Steve, you're tired, and you're being...although his hands do feel very nice…and he does have an incredible chest … not to mention the way his eyes change colour depending on his mood… and the way he always includes you in a joke, instead of making you the butt of it .. and the way he bites his lips when he's shooting…his back muscles…the way he can climb… Steve, stop. He's taken. You're fantasizing about a man, and a taken man. Stop it now. "_  
He shifted the shower setting from hot, to cold, gritting his teeth against the shocking change in temperature – but it had the desired affect. His arousal vanished, and he hurriedly exited the cubicle, toweling himself off. As he pulled his clothes on, he decided that he'd be honest with his friend. It's what Steve would do, and it's what was expected of Captain America.

Taking a deep breath, he ruffled his hair with his fingers, pulling it into a semblance of a side parting, then stepped out of the bathroom.  
Clint was lying on his bed, wearing one of his shirts, one arm across his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. Steve resisted the urge to lie down next to him, pulling out a chair from under the desk, and placing it next to the bed, as Clint cracked open an eye from under his arm.  
"So Captain. Are you going to tell me what happened, or should I just ask Jarvis to replay the security feed ?"  
Steve took a deep breath, and started talking.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve came to the end of his explanation of the night's events. Clint had remained completely silent throughout the story, his arm still covering his eyes, hiding his facial expressions. It had been a few minutes since Steve had finished talking , and he stared at Clint now, waiting for him to say something.  
Tentatively, he reached out a hand to touch Clint's knee .

"Clint ? Are you okay ?" he asked, unsure about what to make of the assassin's silence.  
"I'm fine Captain."  
Clint's voice was cold steel, laced with fury. He sat up on the bed, brushing the Captain's hand off his knee, as he stood up.  
"I'm fine. But Stark is dead."

Steve leapt across the bed as Clint started for the door, tackling the smaller man down, then rolling him over and pinning him. Clint struggled, grimacing up at the handsome man that now straddled him.  
"Captain, I promise I won't kill him. I'll just smack him upside the head a little."  
"Clint, I've already done that, and I think it'd be a bad idea to start another fight tonight. Can we please just leave it for now. Please ?"

Clint grunted, still struggling to break free. Steve tightened his grip , and shifted his weight, placing it more fully on Clint's hips, which were wildly bucking about, trying to throw the larger man off him. Steve leaned forward, his eyes wide and pleading. Clint turned his head, breaking the eye contact.

"Come on Cap', don't use the puppy dog look on me, I'm immune to it."  
"Then why'd you look away ?"  
"Because I felt like sneezing, and didn't want to spray you."  
"Clint…that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."  
"Clearly you haven't watched Tyra on ANTM."  
"I don't understand that reference.."

Clint laughed, as the tension eased from his body. He wondered what the Great American Hero would think of the trashy television show. He looked up at the man still straddling him, the handsome face worried slightly, blue eyes searing into his. He'd never fully appreciated how blue the Captain's eyes were. The irises were a deep sapphire blue, fading into greenish-gold striations around the pupil, almost like a miniature ocean, framed by the thickest eyelashes he'd ever seen. They wouldn't look out of place on a Disney character, he mused to himself.

He suddenly realized how compromising a position they were in, and flushed red, his mind betraying him, with a sudden removal of their clothes, forcing a vivid image of him hilt deep in Steve, their bodies sweating as Steve rode him , gasping his name as Clint drove himself deeper inside him. He snapped back to reality, realizing that Steve was still on top of him, still fully dressed, looking at him quizzically.

"Clint? You okay ? Your pulse just quickened, and your face is really red."  
"Yeah Steve, I'm fine. Maybe you could let me up now though ?"  
As Steve leaned back to sit up, he came fully into contact with Clint's lap, and felt something hard shift beneath him. Thinking he'd brushed Clint's hip bones, he stood up gracefully, offering a hand to Clint, who ignored it, rolling over into an awkward crouch and standing up so he faced away from the Captain.  
"Clint, are you sure you're okay?"  
"Holy cow Captain, stop asking me, I'm fine," Clint laughed, turning to face his friend, making clear there was no malice in his voice. Steve laughed, his eyes taking in the man before him, pausing as he realized the front of Clint's pants were … bulging somewhat.  
_"It almost looks like he's erect...," _Steve thought to himself, the thought trailing off as realization struck._ "Oh my. Clint's got an erection. Oh."_

He forced his eyes back to Clint's face, which had turned slightly pink again, Clint meeting his gaze, and shifting his hips away slightly as though he realized his body was betraying him somehow. Steve hoisted a grin onto his face, his own mind battling not to cause any activity south of the border.  
"So, shouldn't our food be here by now?" he asked.  
"It should be…that's strange," Clint began, just as Jarvis chimed in.

_" Agent Barton, Captain Rogers Sir, I'm sorry to bother you - Ms Romanoff was looking after , who has regained consciousness. She asked him what he said to provoke the fight, and took the oppurtunity to repeat his statement verbatim. Ms. Romanoff is currently shoving his head into the toilet. An intervention on your parts might be necessary."_


	6. Chapter 6

A few days had passed since Steve and Stark had come to blows. The damage to Stark's lab was being repaired, and an uneasy tension had settled on the Tower. After being pulled off Stark by Steve, while Clint waited outside, Natasha had stalked off, leaving Steve to wipe down Stark and put him to bed. Clint had followed her, at a safe distance, and sat quietly in the gym as she took out her frustrations on some punching dummies with a large bo staff. After splintering the staff at both ends, she stopped, her anger having dissipated with the violent workout. Clint hadn't seen Natasha flip like this since she'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D, and knew she was dealing with more than just the injury Stark had tossed at him.

Clint had passed a towel to her, and she'd wiped the sweat off her brow as she placed the splintered staff gently back on the rack. She'd then buried her face in the towel for a few minutes, breathing deeply, and then emerged, calm restored, control regained. Clint had taken her into his arms, hugging her tightly, letting her know that he was okay, and more importantly, he was okay with her. For a few minutes, one of the deadliest women in the world had let down all her guards, with the one person she trusted. She'd left Stark Tower that night, heading back to her apartment, needing the space. Clint understood Natasha. She'd be mortified for having let herself go, and even more mortified for him having seen her do so. She'd never speak of it, and he wouldn't push it.

He was glad that he still had Steve to talk too, otherwise the Tower would have been pretty bleak. They continued to spar together in the gym, following Steve's more traditional military training. He'd introduced Steve to some new fighting styles, and Steve was intrigued by the principles, but was wary about the technique. They'd left off, but Clint had called up Fury and suggested that they send in some instructors for Steve. The first one had arrived that morning, and Steve was in the gym taking a Muay Thai lesson. Clint had taken the day off, to allow his muscles to rest, and was catching up on some reading in his rooms. The Fellowship had just reached Caradhras, when Jarvis chimed in softly on the intercom.

_" Pardon the intrusion Agent Barton, but was hoping he could speak with you in his laboratory."_ "Tell I'll be there in a few," he sighed deeply, marking his page in the book.  
"Oh, and Jarvis, if Steve finishes up, don't tell him where I am. He'll probably get worried."  
_"Of course, Agent Barton."_

The smell of paint was still fresh in the corridor , when Clint exited the elevator, and he took care not to nervously tap his fingers the wall, a tic of his when he was entering strange territory. He stepped into the lab, which had been mostly repaired, though a large sheet of tarpaulin still hung alongside one area. Stark was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to the door, gazing out at the cityscape below him. Clint padded silently across the floor, keeping to Stark's left, out of his blind spot, so as to not startle the man.

They stood side by side, gazing out at the city. Stark exhaled softly.  
"I'm sorry, Agent Bar…Clint," he began, still staring fixedly out the window.  
"I'm sorry, for what I said…for what I did."  
"It's fine, Mr. Stark," Clint replied, his voice cold, ice crackling under every word, "I can understand, that in your mind, I should have been able to take down a demi-god who leapt through a …"  
" No, no, please , stop," Stark interrupted, his voice low, "Please. You…you can't understand. I…"

Clint turned to face the older man.  
"What don't I understand Stark ? If you think I'm stupid enough to believe that you were just drunk and didn't mean anything, I know better! Being drunk just means you felt bold enough to say what's on your mind! And don't try and tell me otherwise! I may just be dumb soldier, but I know how people's minds work."  
Tony swallowed, his gaze still fixed on something outside the window. Clint halted his tirade, looking at Stark properly. Tony seemed…smaller, almost fragile. There was none of his customary bluster and bravado. He wasn't fighting back, lashing out, giving Clint a piece of his mind. He was just standing there, taking the hits. Clint hadn't been there the last time Stark had behaved strangely, but Natasha had been, and she'd explained the difference one night, when Clint had commented on Stark's attitude.

"You didn't see him when he didn't care Clint," she murmured, as they lay together that night. "Stark may come off as an ass, but it's just 'cos he's actually a genius. A rich, handsome, able bodied genius, who keeps the world at bay, with glitter and lights and showmanship. Imagine if every geek in the world had access to the funds that Stark did, while growing up. There'd be no compassion, no empathy, and until he nearly got himself killed, Stark hadn't let anyone come near enough to touch his humanity. Now he knows what it's like to not be powerful, to not be in control, and it scares him. Trust me – Stark might seem like an ass, but don't let that bother you. He's just trying to not let people see how alone he is. It's when he gives up on the world, when he can't force the show, or goes overboard…that's when you really have to worry."

Her words echoed inside him, as Clint reached out tentatively to touch Tony's shoulder.  
"Sta...Tony ?" he said, trying to inject his voice with as much gentleness as he could.  
Stark turned his head , his eyes still downcast.  
"I … I need to explain," he said, his voice so low, Clint almost didn't hear him, "But not here. I know a place, it's not far. Jarvis, could you bring a car around?"  
Clint nodded, and watched silently as Tony moved across the room to pick up a jacket and a pair of nondescript sunglasses. He wasn't even walking with his normal cocky stride, just stepping clear enough of the ground to not be accused of shuffling. He followed Tony into the hallway and into the elevator, his mind turning, trying to figure out what was wrong with Tony Stark.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint and Stark exited the Tower, hopping into the plain sedan that waited for them out front. Clint's concern grew, as they drove calmly through the city streets. A sedan? When did Stark willingly drive anywhere in an unassuming vehicle. Stark stared out the window, watching the buildings flow by.  
He had donated generously to the rebuilding of the city, and had set up funds for the families impacted, at Pepper's behest. A plan was in the works to set up a more permanent "in case of alien attack" rebuilding fund, Pepper's idea again.  
Clint sat quietly, observing the man's strange behavior. Whatever was on Stark's mind, he'd talk when he was ready.

They drive for a while, passing the library, pulling up outside a freshly refurbished shawarma shop – Clint recognized it as the same one they'd been to after they'd dealt with Loki. Clearly Stark wasn't only contributing to the rebuilding of the city.  
It was quiet, despite being the lunch hour, and Stark headed in. The shop had been tastefully redone, dark wood paneling, Turkish silk tapestries hanging on the wall. The man behind the counter came out, giving Tony a massive hug in greeting, and Tony gestured for Clint to take a booth, as he chatted quietly with the owner in Turkish. Clint was mildly impressed.

"Bugün ne istersiniz Stark Bey? Her zamankini mi?" the owner exclaimed.  
"Hayır, bugünki farklı olacak." Stark mused, examining the menu over the counter. "Iki döner tabak, iki şiş ve iki nane çayı lütfen."  
"Tabi efendim, hemen," the owner replied, nodding to Stark, and calling in to the kitchen.  
"Teşekkürler," Stark responded, as he headed towards Clint.

"Ne zaman öğrendin Türkçeyi?" Clint demanded, as Stark slid into the booth.  
"Buralara sık gelirim. Ordan buradan kaptım biraz. Dill bilmek önemlidir," he quipped, removing his sunglasses, and pinching the bridge of his nose.  
"Elbette," Clint smiled, "But your accent needs work. Although, not bad for a novice Turkish speaker."  
"I'll keep that in mind, if I ever decide to join the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D's field agents," Tony smirked.

The owner brought over two glasses of mint tea, and Clint murmured his thanks, bringing the elegant cup to his nostrils, and inhaling the fragrant scent. He'd always enjoyed mint tea, and this one smelt particularly well brewed.  
"You should try their apple tea sometime, if they make it here,"he suggested, taking a small sip.  
"Apple tea ?" Tony murmured , from around his cup, "Sounds delicious."

Clint nodded, continuing to sip his tea. Looking at Stark, he could see dark bags under his eyes, the pale cast to his skin now apparent. His hair seemed to have more grey in it, a few silver strands creeping into the man's goatee.

"Stark," he said, speaking clearly, putting his cup down,and leaning back into the cushioned seat of the booth. "What's going on ?"  
Tony drained his cup of tea, gesturing towards the counter for a refill. He took a deep breath, waited for his fresh tea to arrive, then began speaking.

"Nothing's been the same since Loki's attack," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can't sleep. And when I do , I have nightmares. Dying. Falling from space."  
He paused, and cleared his throat.  
"Honestly I .. I don't know… if I'm strong enough to keep doing this. To keep fighting. If it means putting the people I care about in danger, if it means, being a hero. It all feels too much."  
Clint leaned closer, his voice low.  
"Tony, I'm sorry that you're going through this. I understand what you're going through. You're not field trained, and even then, you're in a unique position. I can't say much, except… well, thank you for telling me. But, you need to tell Pepper. And you need to go see a shrink."  
Stark snorted softly, a hint of his normal abrasiveness reappearing in his eyes. Clint had never been happier to see such an expression that normally resulted in yelling matches. But he hadn't finished yet.

"I understand that the stress is overwhelming, and I only wish you'd said something sooner,"Clint continued, pausing as the waiter brought over their food. "But it doesn't explain why you were attacking Steve."  
Tony flushed, hiding his face in his hands.  
"Steve … makes it all look so easy. He's the big hero. He called me out on it. What am I without the suit, without the money. I was … so angry, with him. He never lets it get him down. He's always the Captain. And I … I can't be him. I can't be the hero that everyone wants me to be…"  
"So you tried to kill him with alcohol poisoning?" Clint asked, confused by the other man's logic.  
"No," Tony responded, a note of annoyance entering his voice.  
"I was trying to have a bonding moment. And it wasn't working, and I was getting more drunk, and he was getting more aloof, and he seemed to find it so easy to talk to you and to Nat. You all spend so much time together. Bruce and Pepper have been out of town for weeks now, and I've just been by myself, and I got jealous and …," Tony trailed off.

Clint sat there in silence, digesting the information he'd just heard. Picking up his fork, he picked a piece of meat from his plate, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Swallowing, he took a sip of tea, then responded.  
"No one is asking you to be anyone but yourself Stark. Yes, Steve is Captain America, but if you think he's not lonely, you're even more of a dumbass than I am. Why do you think Natasha and I spend time with him ? He's a great guy, but without us, he's alone in this century. You do have Bruce, and Pepper and a whole slew of things to keep you busy. You have an out, you have support, whether or not you realize it. Steve doesn't. Don't compare yourself to him. You are a good man. He trusts you. I won't say you didn't damage that trust with your little stunt, but, I think I know Steve well enough to know that he'll forgive you. He forgave me, after what Loki did. But now you need to apologize to him."

Stark's eyes widened in consternation, his mouth paused in mid-chew.  
"You don't need to tell him everything you just told me," Clint laughed, amused at Stark's facial expression. " Just, apologize. Steve will accept the apology. The rest of it will take time."  
"I'm going to head down to the house in L.A. tomorrow. I'll talk to Steve before I leave. What about Natasha though…she seemed quite ready to never speak to me again," Tony asked.  
"She's mad at you for being a dick to me," Clint explained.  
"But she's more mad that you were able to get under her skin in that way. She'd probably appreciate a new toy though. I'll talk to her for you."  
"You guys are good together," Tony said, beginning to eat with more enthusiasm.

"We're not together Stark," Clint grinned.  
"Natasha and I care for each other a lot, and we'll always be there for one another, but we're not 'together'. It actually keeps things uncomplicated."  
"And here I thought you two were keeping each other warm at night,"Tony grinned roguishly.  
"Didn't realize what a bachelor pad the Tower's turned out to be. So there's no one in your life ?"

Clint took a sip of his tea.  
"No, no one…but there is someone I'm interested in. I'll keep you posted."  
He grinned suddenly, "By the way Stark ? The next time you decide you want to make a friend ? Run your plan by me first."  
Tony broke into laughter, the expression bringing light back into his face.  
" Thanks Clint, I will. And Clint… I am sorry, for everything I said."  
"Apology accepted Stark. Now hurry up and finish your food, I want some of that bakhlava."

* * *

Transcript of Turkish speech :  
"Bugün ne istersiniz Stark Bey? Her zamankini mi?"  
"Hayır, bugünki farklı olacak. Iki döner tabak, iki şiş ve iki nane çayı lütfen."  
"Tabi efendim, hemen,"  
"Teşekkürler,"  
"Ne zaman öğrendin Türkçeyi?"  
"Buralara sık gelirim. Ordan buradan kaptım biraz. Dill bilmek önemlidir,"  
"Elbette."

"What can i get you today ? The usual ?"  
"No , something different. Two shawarma plates, two kebabs, and a couple of glasses of mint tea. Keep those coming"  
"Of course sir, it'll be right with you."  
"Thanks."  
"When did you learn Turkish ?"  
"I hang out here a lot. Picked up a little here and there. Language skills are useful."  
"Indeed."


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was just finishing up with his instructor in the gym. He was a bit distracted, earning him a tough heel across his jaw. He was off balance enough that the light tap sent him sprawling in a most comical fashion across the mat. The instructor looked at Captain America lying on the ground, and then peered closely at his foot, looking for signs of new found superhuman strength.

As Steve picked himself up, his mind wandered back to the morning's events.  
He'd been woken up earlier that morning, by Jarvis chiming in softly on the intercom.  
"My apology for the early wakeup call sir," Jarvis toned, "but Mr. Stark is hoping you would join him in the kitchen."  
Steve had paused in the act of rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and then shrugged, having been too sleepy to care.  
"Sure thing Jarvis, tell him I'll be right there."

He'd pushed the blanket off his legs and swung out to sit on the edge of the bed. Stretching his shoulders, he yawned, wondering what Stark wanted. Clad only in a pair of red boxer briefs, Steve had padded slowly to the bathroom, washing his face with cold water, and swilling some mouth wash. Hoping that the morning wouldn't begin with a major argument, he slipped into his clothes, and walked barefoot towards the kitchen.

As he'd entered, he was assailed by the scent of breakfast foods. Stark stood at the sink, his back to the doorway and on the kitchen table was an impressive array of food. There was a large bowl of grits, a bowl of chopped fresh fruit, jostling for space alongside a platter piled high with pancakes, which cast its shadow on another plate of perfectly done bacon and sausage, which in turn rubbed elbows with a dish of scrambled eggs. A pot of coffee was just starting to beep on the burner, and two tall glass pitchers stood in the center of the table, their surfaces beaded with condensation, one containing milk, and the other orange juice.

Tony turned around, holding the pot of coffee, pausing as he realized that Steve had arrived. The two men made eye contact, though neither spoke. The silence stretched, long seconds ticking by, as Tony stood there uncertainly, and Steve shuffled his feet. Mentally shaking himself, Steve forced a smile, deciding to power through the awkwardness.  
"Morning," he said, crossing the floor to sit at one end of the table.  
"What's the special occasion?"  
"Nothing special per se," Tony responded, coming around the kitchen island to fill the mug that sat by Steve's plate.  
"I'm just trying to … well… I guess this is … thisismywayofsayingsorry," he finished in a rush, pouring the coffee into the mug so vigorously, the liquid gurgle almost drowned out his words.  
Steve stared, certain he'd misheard.  
"Did you just … apologize?" he asked, completely gob smacked. Was he dreaming?  
Tony clunked the coffee pot back on to the counter, his expression challenging.  
"Yes, I am. What of it? You didn't think the big man in the fancy suit could apologize?" he demanded, cheeks slightly pink.  
Steve shook his head silently.  
"Oh. Well I can. And I did," he blustered, not quite meeting Steve's eyes.  
"You kind of mumbled it though Stark. Doesn't count unless you say it slowly and clearly," Steve intoned severely, smiling to himself as he considered how far he could push Stark.

Stark's eyes widened slightly, a faint spark of anger and resentment flaring, before fading. Taking a deep breath, he made eye contact with Steve.  
"Steve, I'm sorry, for what I did. For what I said. I know I can't take it back, and I can't explain it all away, but I really am, very sorry, for behaving in that way," he said, enunciating his words so that they could be heard, his tone sincere, not a trace of mockery on him.

"Do you think you could forgive me?"  
Steve stared, now feeling guilty for making the man apologize so profusely._ "That wasn't exactly a noble thing to do,"_ he chided himself mentally, "_But what should I say? Do I forgive him? Well that's silly, of course I do. But I'm not going to be beer buddies with him anytime soon."_

Steve reached for the small jug of cream on the table, pouring a small amount into his coffee, watching the clouds swirl into existence in his cup. He'd always felt that moment was magical. He stirred his cup, and then slowly took a sip, before putting it down.  
"Yes," he said, looking up at Stark, who let out a breath he'd been holding.  
"Yes, I do forgive you. I do want to know why, but, you don't need to explain it to me just now. But have you apologized to Clint?"  
"Yes, yes I have. This was his idea – he said you're a breakfast fiend."  
Steve raised an eyebrow at the apt description, letting a smile cross his face.  
"Well good. But…Stark? This doesn't mean I'm going to go back to the way things were before. You weren't the … friendliest guy."

Stark snorted, a smile touching his eyes as the tension dissipated from the room.  
"I'm not that naïve Captain. But I'd like the chance to fix things. We'll see. I'm not saying there'll be a miraculous change. But I am going to try and fix things."  
Steve nodded, impressed by the tone of sincerity in the man's voice. Jarvis chimed in on the intercom.  
_"Mr. Stark sir, your car is waiting outside to take you to the airport."_  
"Thanks Jarvis."  
Tony stepped forward.

"I'm heading down to LA for a while. Give you a bit of space. We'll talk more when I get back."  
He reached out to shake Steve's hand. On impulse, Steve stood up, taking Stark's hand and shaking firmly, then stepping forward and giving him a hug. Stark stood stunned for a moment, then silently hugged back, relaxing into the embrace slightly. After a few seconds, Steve had stepped back, nodding to assure Stark that nothing more needed to be said. Stark clapped him on the shoulder, fingers squeezing briefly, and then exited the kitchen, calling for Jarvis to have his bag sent down. Steve had sat back down, and started consuming the delicious meal that Stark had prepared.

What he didn't know was that upstairs in Stark's lab, Clint had been watching the whole thing, ready to step in if things had taken a bad turn. Clint nodded to himself, satisfied, and then grinned mischievously.  
"Jarvis?" he said.  
"Could you please send me a recording of Stark saying sorry? I'd like to have a hard copy of that for myself, if I ever need to be reminded that miracles do happen."  
_" I've already done so Agent Barton. Perhaps you should join Captain Rogers for breakfast now?"_  
"Dammit Jarvis, you're getting creepy. Stop reading my mind"  
_"With all due respect Agent Barton, I haven't read your mind, you're just predictable."  
_A note of glee entered Jarvis's normally staid voice.  
"_Also, I monitored a shift in hormonal levels in your body when you observed my wake up call to Captain Rogers, and his morning ablutions."_

Clint blushed furiously, stalking from the room to join Steve in the kitchen downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve wiped the sweat from his face as he caught his breath. After the instructor had knocked him over, the man seemed to think he had finally bested Captain America and had pulled out all the stops to achieve another victory. Steve had held his own, but had been greatly impressed by how much of a fight the man had put up. As Steve headed towards the door, he wondered if Natasha might have been able to take him down, had she had the same training. Speaking of Natasha, he flipped forwards into a controlled roll, as a shadow dropped down on him from above the doorway. On his feet and assuming fighting stance, Steve whirled, and saw nothing but a backpack on the ground. It had a note attached to it. _SURPRISE_, it said, signed with a lipstick kiss. Steve barely read the note when Natasha dropped down on top of him, having tricked him into losing his advantage. Leaping forwards, she wrapped her legs around Steve's neck, and flipped him in a sacrifice throw.

As he lay on the floor his breath knocked out of him again, Natasha flipped forwards and landed perfectly straddling him.  
"Hey Captain. Did you miss me?" she grinned, leaning forwards in a faux seduction, and planting a kiss on Captain America's cheek.  
Laughing at her impropriety, Steve planted his feet firmly, then powered himself upright, Natasha still straddling his hips. It was an impressive move and Natasha giggled in appreciation.

"Why Captain Rogers, sir, you're just so strong, so masterful," she purred, batting her eyelids flirtatiously, pretending to be an innocent damsel.  
"Why thank you little lady," Steve drawled, drawing out an exaggerated accent. "I've half a mind to take you home myself. I've been looking for a missus."  
"A missus ! Why I do declare ! Mom and Pop would be so thrilled ! Let's go home right now and ask them ! I can't wait to become your trophy wife!" Natasha simpered, playing her role to the hilt.

Steve snorted with laughter again, unable to respond. He hugged her tightly, then set her down, taking a look at her properly. She looked good, her curly red hair had grown out a little longer, and her skin had a slight golden glow to it, a delicate scent of coconut teasing his nostrils. Steve smiled, glad to see his friend was back, and most definitely better.

"Where's Clint?" Natasha asked, as she pulled off her light grey pullover, revealing a black tank top underneath. She tossed it aside, and began to stretch, limbering up for her workout.  
"I'm not sure, "Steve responded, taking a swig from his water bottle, "We had breakfast this morning, then he headed out. Guess you two will be having a dinner date or something later?"  
"Dinner maybe, dates, not so much," Natasha grunted, as she lowered herself backwards into a bridge position.  
Steve stood quietly, concerned.  
"Did you and Clint break up?" he asked, now worried about Clint.  
" You can't break up with someone if you're not dating them Captain," Natasha responded, as she moved from her bridge into a perfect handstand, and then slowly maneuvering her legs into a split.  
"Clint and I are just friends – we never 'dated', precisely."  
"But … you two … I mean…"Steve stammered.

"Oh!" Natasha looked at Steve, understanding dawning on her upside down face. Spinning her legs like a windmill, she dropped down to the floor so that she was upright again.  
"Yes, Clint and I have … been intimate. Many times actually," she explained delicately.  
"And we care about each other very much. Unfortunately, in our line of work, traditional relationships don't really end well. We both love our jobs too much – and one day, our jobs might involve us needing to punch each other in the face. Trying to create a relationship, with all that going on? It's a lot of work. And it's not something that Clint and I want to try."  
Steve nodded, his expression calm, although inside, his heart was fluttering strangely. Maybe he was still tired from the workout.

"So Clint's not seeing anyone?" he asked, as casually as he could, taking another swig from his water bottle.  
"Not that I know of," Natasha said, her head tilted to one side as she stretched her neck muscles.  
"Maybe you could ask him out," she teased, "I know Clint adores spending time with you."  
She'd meant it as a joke, and was surprised when Steve had turned bright red and then choked; spraying out the mouthful of water he'd just tried to swallow.  
_"OH!" she thought to herself, "Oh my. Well now. This is interesting…wouldn't that be nice? Let's see what we can do here."_  
"You alright Cap," she asked gently, as Steve wiped the water off his chin, then mopped up the floor, " I didn't mean to startle you – guys do date in this day and age, I sometimes forget that it's not quite the 'norm'."  
"It's okay Nat," Steve responded, face still a brilliant pink. "Just, some water went down the wrong way. Ha-ha - me asking Clint out, that'd be funny. I doubt I'm his type."  
_"Interesting,"_ Natasha mused silently. _"No outright denial."_  
"Clint's an open-minded guy," she said out loud, "Maybe you should give it a shot." She winked roguishly.  
Steve turned red again.  
"No, no, I couldn't," he mumbled quietly, before squaring up, "Anyways, it was a hypothetical situation. I'm going to go hit the shower. Enjoy your workout, we'll chat after?"

Natasha nodded, watching as the Captain headed out. She knew Clint was very fond of Steve – and they had a lot in common. Steve wouldn't be the first man in Clint's life … but could Clint handle being Steve's first? She headed over to the gymnastics bar, mentally unfurling a plan.  
"Jarvis?" she said out loud, "Could you locate Agent Barton for me, and tell him I'm back? Also pull up the contact information for Arise Ling – I'll need to give her a call once I'm done."


	10. Chapter 10

The plane shook as it flew through the air; the blades on the engines whirling threw the slight cloud cover. Clint gazed out his window, looking at the ground down below. It was a mountainous area, covered with forests, the land undulating and shifting below them. From up here, it was strikingly beautiful. He memorized the lay out, taking in certain formations, as well as the location of a large body of water. Not quite a lake, but sizable. They'd be at the drop-point soon, and he was starting to feel a little jittery. This was all Natasha's idea.

She'd taken him aside when she'd gotten back, and they'd gone out to their favorite bar, one that catered to agents where they could talk openly. They played a few rounds of pool, each of them holding their own, downing shots of vodka as they bantered playfully. Clint was soon too buzzed to continue playing, at least according to Natasha. Although he wasn't stumbling or slurring, he was missing half his shots. Giggling like children, they sat down at their booth as an order of burgers and beers arrived. Natasha had flown out to Hawaii, one of her favorite travel spots, as clichéd as it may have seemed. They'd started reminiscing about old fights and old flings, and Natasha had looked at him and said, "I think there's something you're not telling me."

Flabbergasted, Clint had frozen. How had she known? Natasha smiled crookedly at his expression, and he took a guess.  
"Jarvis?" he croaked.  
"Yep."  
"What did he …?"  
"Everything…you perve you."  
"I didn't..."  
"I know. But you want to, don't you?"  
"Yeah, but …"  
"He does too."  
"WHAT!?"

"Relax, I didn't say anything. Let's just say, he's not against the idea, or at least he seems to not be. You should find out, at least for 'closure'," she said, creating air quotes around the word.  
"I don't know how or what…"  
"Don't worry – I've got it all planned out ," she'd said, sipping at her beer.  
" Without even asking me, "he pouted, poking at his fries.  
"What can I say Clint, you're predictable."  
"I am not ! Jarvis said the same thing."  
"Then Jarvis and I agree."  
"Shut up. What's the grand plan?" he grumbled, curious nonetheless.

Natasha leaned forward, explaining. S.H.I.E.L.D had an outdoor training facility. It wasn't a facility in the sense that the FBI's space in Virginia was, but an area of wilderness, with some obstacle courses built in, and a diverse terrain including woodland and rock land. The only way in was by parachute and S.H.I.E.L.D would send agents there to train, but it was also used as a retreat. It had an operations building two miles away from the edge of the area, and it did not do area surveillance, although it monitored all traffic into and out of the area. They sometimes took up desk agents for weekend retreats, to allow them to practice the field skills that otherwise rusted away unused. Natasha had called in a favor, and the place would be cleared for one week for Steve and Clint to go in and have some time together, doing outdoorsy things , where they wouldn't be disturbed, and where they'd also be safe.  
"One week?" Clint had asked, incredulous. "What if we end up hating each other?"  
"You'll have a communicator with you," she'd said. "If things don't go so well, holler, and we'll come pick you up. No muss, no fuss."

They had gone home, and Clint had broken the news to Steve casually the next morning. Steve had been excited – army training and military service aside, he'd never experienced wilderness, having grown up in Brooklyn, and had spent the next two days prepping for their trip, wondering what he should pack. Clint had had the great satisfaction of showing him all of S.H.I.E.L.D's trekking gear, including collapsible cooking pots, which had mesmerized Steve for over an hour.

Clint snapped out of his reverie, as the plane's captain chimed in over the intercom.  
"Alright boys, we're over the drop zone. Get those packs on," the voice intoned, slightly distorted by the static, but distinctly Natasha's  
"Are you sure you won't join us Natasha?" Steve asked, as he pulled on his parachute, and checked the cords of the chute attached to their supply bundle.  
"There's no place to park this plane down there Steve," Natasha responded, crackling on the intercom. "I'll join you boys another time."

Clint moved to the rear of the plane, flipping up the protective cover of the button that would lower the door they'd be leaping out of. Standing ready, he nodded to Steve, who slid their supplies over. The supplies would drop first, and the two men would follow after. Steve was grinning like a looby, the excitement of the adventure holiday getting to him. Clint couldn't help but grin back at the contagious exuberance. He flipped up the cover, and the door slowly lowered, letting the outside air rush in. Planting himself firmly, Steve dropped out the supply bundle, counting to ten before activating the parachute. It flared open below them, gently guiding the supplies down towards the clear landing area.

Steve turned to Clint.  
"You first?" he shouted, barely audible over the noise of the plane.  
"If you insist," Clint shouted back as he stepped forward and jumped out of the plane. As he fell, he was struck by the similarity between leaping out of a plane and leaping into love. He was thankful that for at least one of those, there was a functioning safety device that could be implemented.

The two men touched down gently in the field, pulling their parachutes in and bundling them up, field training instinctive at this point. They waved up at the plane as it passed over them, and then the silence returned. Trotting over to a corner of the landing zone, Clint opened up a camouflaged metal bunker, which he placed his bundled up parachute into. It would be retrieved at a later point by a cleanup crew.

He then walked over to Steve, who was by their supply bundle, making sure everything was intact and ready to go. He stood up, passing Clint his backpack, and slipped his own on, his movements deft and assured. Clint idly imagined those hands on him, and blinked in surprise as Steve stepped towards him, his hands reaching out. Clint froze, wondering if he'd gained a telepathic power, when Steve reached past him to zip the pack closed, so that its contents wouldn't fall out. Chiding himself for overreacting Clint proceeded to buckle up the backpack clips, tilting his head to take in the view of Captain America bending over to wrap up the extra cords left lying on the ground.

The two of them wore similar clothing, tough khaki trousers, soft cotton shirts, Clint's a slate grey, and Steve's a sky blue, with broken in army boots on their feet. They had spare clothes in their packs, including socks and underwear, but Clint knew that at this moment, Steve was commando under those pants – he'd accidentally walked in on Steve getting dressed, and had seen him slip on his pants with nothing on. The quick glimpse of skin, and the sight of the shirtless man had left his heart racing, and his groin tight, but he'd kept his cool and teased the Captain about chafing.

Steve had pulled out his compass, and was waving it about maniacally.  
"What are you doing?" Clint asked, amused.  
"The needle was jammed," Steve explained.  
"Well sure, that thing's an antique, you can't expect it to function well, "Clint teased.  
"Ha-ha, very droll, Agent Barton.  
"Clint," Agent Barton corrected. "Remember our deal? No job titles this trip."  
Steve smiled.  
"Very droll Clint," he said, "Do you know where we're going?"  
"Why yes Steve, I do," he said pointedly, pulling out his GPS device. "We're heading north, where we'll reach our first location of interest, and then we'll make our way to our camping spot."  
"Lead the way," Steve replied, grinning again.  
"Absolutely. We're heading uphill, so we'll have a really great view."

_"I've got a really great view from where I am,"_ Steve thought to himself silently, as he followed Clint, who was jogging lightly out of the landing zone. The fabric of Clint's pants moved with his body, his muscular glutes flexing, revealing the line of his briefs as his muscular legs carried him. Steve started his jog as well, wishing he'd put on underpants, fighting to control the blood that was threatening to rush south.


	11. Chapter 11

They'd headed up hill into the forested area, bird calls around them, Clint leading the way as he found the path. They'd moved at a light jog, both of them physically fit enough to disparage the idea of leisurely strolls at this point in the day. As they'd climbed, through breaks in the tree's Steve could see the land sliding away below them, and the beauty of the place they were in.

Nearly an hour later, they broke into a clearing. Clint was breathing a little hard, and Steve gave the man some privacy to catch his breath. Though in excellent shape, Clint was older, and didn't have the serum-advancement's Steve had – they'd had an intense hike, and Clint had led the entire way, barely slowing down at all. Steve wasn't sure what exactly to call the place they were in. Although not a cliff, they were definitely on a mountain side, and the ground fell away to one side, but it wasn't exactly the end of the mountain. Shrugging to himself, he turned around, only to realize that Clint had vanished. His backpack lay on the ground, but there was no sign of the agent anywhere. Berating himself, Steve dropped his backpack to the ground, and crossed over to examine the ground beside Clint's pack. There were the tracks that Clint had made coming in, but then nothing else. It was almost as though the man had vanished.

Looking around, Steve caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the clearing. Crouching low, he crept forward, trying hard to be as silent as possible. Behind a bush, something rustled, trying furtively not to be seen. He leapt forward, somersaulting over the bush, landing upright ready to do battle, and found himself facing down a startled rabbit. They stared at each other for seconds, before the rabbit leapt forward, darting between Steve's startled legs, and fleeing for cover. Steve snickered to himself, at the thought of him almost fighting an innocent bunny, when he heard another rustle.

Before he could respond, a dark shape tackled him to the ground, rolling them back into the clearing, Steve on the ground, the breath knocked out of him. The figure was wearing a mask that completely hid its features – there weren't even eye holes. Steve lashed out, trying to land a blow, but the figure blocked his moves, and slammed his wrists back into the ground. Something cold pressed around each wrist, and Steve looked back to see his wrists had steel band around them, that pushed them into the ground. At the angle that he was, he couldn't pull them out. He rolled his legs up, trying to wrap them around his opponent, and throw him, but again, the figure moved, evading the flailing limbs and preventing Steve from moving. Before he could try another attack, the figure straddled him, its hands reaching forwards and finding Steve's ribs.

Steve gasped, as the figure started tickling him mercilessly. He was pinned helpless, and some sadistic person had been trained to locate Captain America's weak spot, and use it against him. He tried to catch his breath, unable to laugh, but helpless, as a low giggle burst from the figure torturing him. He recognized that voice.

"Clint?" he gasped, as the figure moved again, finding a new spot to tickle. Still laughing, Clint reached up to pull off his mask. Steve was furious. Clint was wracked by laughter and could barely continue tickling him, and Steve took the moment to flip him over, wrenching his wrists out of the ground. Clint was lying on the ground roaring with laughter, and Steve couldn't help but start laughing as well. He leapt on Clint, who lay, too weakened by laughter to fend him off, and began tickling him as well. Clint roared and gasped and pleaded, but Steve persisted, tickling Clint until tears were streaming down his face.  
"Mercy, mercy!" Clint finally managed to gasp out, and Steve stopped. Clint swept his legs around and knocked Steve over again, and leapt on him, regaining his former position, and began tickling him again. Steve was prepared this time however, and quickly grabbed Clint's wrists, pulling them to the side.

The move brought Clint closer to his face, and the two men froze, suddenly aware of how their bodies were placed. Clint was on top of Steve, one leg on either side of his hips, his chest pressing into Steve's , his lips so close to Steve's that Steve only had to lean forwards slightly to make the kiss completely. Clint could feel Steve's heart beating through the thin fabric covering his chest, the muscles on the heaving chest beneath him. Their eyes were locked, blue and grey, afraid to look away, afraid to move forwards. Steve swallowed nervously, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips nervously.

Clint watched the movement, no sign of hilarity on his face, his own tongue unconsciously mirroring Steve's movement. Clint maintained eye contact, and leaned closer, his lips gently brushing Steve's, who didn't respond. Plucking up his courage, Clint closed his eyes and completed the kiss, tasting the lips he'd been dreaming of for weeks now. Steve's lips parted naturally, perhaps in surprise, and Clint kissed him, once, twice, three times, before leaning back to see if Steve was alright. He'd barely started back up again, when Steve released his wrists, and reached up, gripping the back of Clint's head in one hand, and wrapping around his waist with the other, and pulling him back down, this time planting a kiss of his own. It was hot, desperate and intense, and Clint responded, his tongue pushing forwards to deepen the kiss, eliciting a moan from Steve who clumsily tried to replicate the movement.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily, Steve's hand trembling slightly as it now rested against Clint's shoulder. Steve 's face was flushed, his blonde hair askew, a slight frown crossing his brow as he watched Clint , clearly worried that he'd done something wrong, unsure of what to do next. Clint smiled, turning his head to kiss the hand that rested on his shoulder. Steve's responding smile was so wide it rivaled the sunlight beaming down around them. Clint had never seen anyone so happy, and he doubted he ever would again. Taking a hold of Steve's hand, he stood up, pulling the taller man to his feet, then hugged him, letting him know silently that everything was alright.

Clint broke the embrace, pulling away and crossing the clearing towards his backpack.  
"Let's keep going," he said, pulling it on. "I want to make our campsite before nightfall."  
Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet, not wanting to say the wrong thing. He tugged on his backpack, and walked over to Clint who was waiting for him. Clint stood aside, letting Steve take the lead, and as he did so, he felt one of Clint's strong muscular hands grab his ass. Steve jumped, pulling away laughing, noting the burning lust in Clint's eyes that belied his otherwise innocent expression. Their campsite lay below, a small clearing that bordered the body of water Clint had seen from the plane.


	12. Chapter 12

As they entered the clearing, the sun was hiding behind some scudding clouds, its light filtering through to gently fall on the water below. The slight waves sparkled in the light, the waters cool and inviting, winking at the two men on shore.

Steve stood for a moment, drinking in the scene before him. Clint glanced around, impressed by the view, but fixed his eyes on the beatific expression that was lighting up Steve's face. Smiling, he nudged Steve, jolting him out of his reverie. Startled, Steve jumped, and then laughed, realizing how gob smacked he had been. He un-shouldered his backpack, setting it down on the ground, preparing to help Clint set up the site, unzipping the pack and pulling out the tent poles, which were swiftly pulled out of his hands by Clint. Steve looked at him surprised.  
"Go," Clint said, smiling and tilting his head towards the water.  
"But, the camp, the tent…," Steve stammered, gesturing.  
"Nothing I can't set up solo. Go, I'll join you."  
"Are you sure?"  
Cleverly interpreting the swift swat Clint directed to his backside with the tent poles as proof of his conviction, Steve pulled off his boots and socks, and jogged lightly towards the lake.

Clint watched in admiration as Steve pulled off his shirt, revealing his enhanced physique, the muscles across his back rippling, as he carefully tossed the shirt aside, checking to make sure it didn't land in a patch of poison ivy. Clint swallowed nervously as Steve's hands moved towards the front of his pants, the tall, Adonis like man glancing back over his shoulder to see if Clint was watching. The two men held eye-contact, slight smiles playing on both their faces, before Steve quickly unfastened the snap, and shucked his pants. Stepping out of them, he kicked them gently to one side to lie with his shirt. Without looking back to observe Clint's reaction, he ran forwards into the lake, wading in till the water was hip deep, then dived forward, submerging himself completely.

Clint stood on shore, mesmerized, the tent poles slipping from his hands to clatter against the ground, his hand moving to rearrange the erection that now strained the front of his pants. Steve was stunningly proportioned, and Clint had barely dared to dream about what he'd look like naked. The reality was so much better – smooth, unblemished skin, that covered rippling rock hard muscle. And the man didn't even have the courtesy to move bulkily, despite all that mass. Steve had the grace of a dancer, which made sense considering he did gymnastic training, and Clint had seen him in action on the battlefield, but to see him, naked, his body in motion, the liquid grace with which his limbs moved, it was an homage to the beauty of the male physique, pure poetry in motion.

Clint shook his head, laughing at the clichéd thought running through his head, as Steve bobbed up in the middle of the water, his head and shoulders just visible above the water. He waved to Clint, and Clint waved back, snapping to, and linking the poles together, his hands moving briskly and professionally, almost by rote. He set up the tent, angling it to allow for wind movement, unfurling their sleeping bags inside. He grimaced slightly as he realized that his water bottle had leaked onto his bag, soaking the fabric. Hoping that it would dry out in time, he set the bag up anyways, before setting up the fire implements, quickly gathering firewood and rocks to contain the fire. Clearing a bare area a few feet from the tent, he arranged and stacked the firewood, leaving it ready for them to use.

Brushing his hands clean, he pulled two towels from his backpack, he peeled off his shirt and headed towards the water, placing the towel on a flat dry rock that was in a sunny patch. Steve was idly kicking around out in the center of the lake, and Clint waved, grabbing his attention. Pulling off his S.H.I.E.L.D issue watch, he waved it, the steel glinting in the sunlight, then threw it as hard as he could, the two men watching it sparkle in the air before it splashed into the lake, a few feet from where Steve was floating. As Steve started to dive for the watch, Clint quickly stripped off and dived into the lake, swimming out strongly to wait for Steve to surface. A few minutes passed and Steve finally surfaced, grasping the watch triumphantly in one hand. He shook his wet hair back, the locks now a dark blonde, and grinned triumphantly at Clint, the grin dropping slightly as he realized he'd missed Clint's naked entry into the water. Laughing at his successful ruse, Clint held out his hand, taking the watch back from Steve and slipping it back onto his wrist.

Steve glided closer to Clint, reaching out a hand, tentatively tracing the curve of Clint's shoulder blade as it gleamed in the sunlight. His fingers touched a raised scar, a grisly reminder of the life that Clint led, and the dangers he'd faced. Clint smiled, kicking softly to stay afloat, enjoying the gentle touch. Steve slid his hand along Clint's arm, then grabbed his wrist, pulling them together, and unexpectedly planting a kiss on Clint's lips as he did so. It was quick, and chaste, tasting of freshwater, and desire. Clint had barely registered the kiss however, when Steve pulled back, reared out of the water for leverage, and promptly shoved Clint under the water. Clint went deep down, his mouth filling with water as he opened his mouth in shock, and he surfaced spluttering in outrage. Steve was already swimming away, and Clint gave chase, looking for payback.

As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, and the first stars started to open up in the sky above them, Clint finally called it quits. He paddled into shore, Steve close behind, and paused when they were both still hip deep in the water, realizing they were both about to be completely naked in front of each other. Even though they'd just horsed around in the water, it had been purely in fun, and their nudity had not felt out of place, and now it presented an interesting problem. Steve stood out in slightly deeper water, his hands covering himself as he blushed a shade of crimson that threatened to rival the sunset.

Laughing at the man's sweetness, Clint braced himself and padded out the water, picking up the towels that were now pleasantly warm, from sitting in the sun all afternoon. He wrapped one around himself, then held one out towards the water, looking away as he did so. Steve splashed forwards, and took the towel, thanking Clint as he did so. Clint kept his gaze forward, as he hurried to light the fire before total darkness consumed them. Steve followed him, the towel just barely holding on around his narrow waist, and Clint was struck by how erotic the sight was. Steve ducked behind the tent to pull on his clothes, then came over to take over for Clint.

"Sorry for not helping set up earlier," he murmured softly, as they tucked into their meal a short while later.  
"It's fine, I've set up camp plenty of times solo, and you looked like you desperately wanted a swim," Clint responded, chewing a mouthful of beans.  
"Yeah, but, I should have helped nevertheless. A good leader always…," Steve began, before Clint interrupted him.  
"You're not here as my leader Steve. You're here as my friend - and I said it was okay. Please, relax."

Steve smiled at Clint, a silent apology in the smile. Clint smiled back, before focusing on finishing his food. The day's hike, as well as the swimming and the fresh air had left him ravenous. He could feel Steve's gaze on him, and wondered what he saw. Clint knew he wasn't traditionally handsome, but he'd received enough compliments on his eyes to know they were his best feature, albeit not ones that showed up in the dim firelight. He glanced at Steve, who was now looking up at the night sky, admiring the stars that studded the darkness above them. The firelight cast his features into stark relief, highlighting his strong nose and high cheekbones. His hair was ruffled , and he'd not taken the time to part it, and it fell forward, covering his forehead, making him look younger than Clint had ever seen.

Steve stood, gathering their plates, and taking them down to the water's edge to wash them. Clint checked his sleeping bag in the tent, which was unfortunately still wet from his water bottle. Although the night was pleasant at the moment, he knew it would get colder , and wasn't looking forwards to facing that chill. As Steve returned, he noticed Clint's predicament.  
"Don't worry," he smiled, placing the dishes down, and pulling open his rucksack,"Look what I packed!"

With a flourish, he pulled out a micro-sleeping bag, the container barely the size of his forearm. Laughing at the look of relief on Clint's face, he tossed the bag to him, and watched as the man deftly unfurled the bag and lay it out, carelessly kicking the wet one aside. Steve yawned loudly, realizing how tired he was.  
"Ready to hit the hay ?" Clint asked, as he moved to the fire to carefully bank the embers.  
"Absolutely. I'm exhausted."  
"Get on in, I'll be right there."

Steve slipped into the tent, and unzipped his sleeping bag, running his hand over the thick lining inside. He pulled his shirt over his head, and folded it neatly, then placed it in the far corner of the tent, where it was joined shortly by his pants. Slipping into his sleeping bag naked, he zipped up and felt the bag absorb and reflect his body's heat back, waiting for Clint to get into the tent. Clint came in a few minutes later, pulling his sleeping bag a little closer to Steve's, and stripped off his clothes , before slipping into his own bag. Within minutes, they both fell into a deep sleep, from which Steve awoke a few hours later, his sleep interrupted by a surprising drop in temperature that had left Clint shivering in cold, his teeth chattering. Although the micro sleeping bag was warm, it was nowhere near as functional as the heavy duty sleeping bag Steve was in, and the tent was a lightweight construction, not designed to retain heat as well as it could have. Reaching for the small torch that he'd placed by his bag, Steve flicked it on, the red bulb illuminating Clint.

"Want to share mine?" Steve mumbled sleepily.  
As Clint nodded gratefully, too cold to articulate a response, Steve unzipped his bag, and Clint clambered in ,too cold to worry about being naked. Beginning to warm up, he unzipped the micro bag completely, turning it into a blanket, and placing it over the shared bag, to help insulate them further. Still half asleep, Steve clicked the torch off, and wrapped his arm around Clint, pulling the shorter man into a spooning position, that was wonderfully intimate without being sexual. Clint smiled to himself, as he felt the strong arm holding him close. He'd not realized he'd been missing this peace from his life for quite some time.

As an owl hooted outside, the two men slumbered, safe in each other's arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve woke up slowly, the early grey dawn light barely illuminating the tent. Clint slumbered on peacefully, warm by his side, and as Steve woke up fully, he realized that Clint was pressed up against his full blown morning glory.

_"Oh God,"_ he thought to himself, as he fought not to press harder into the warm skin that flanked his.  
He shifted his body, preparing to slide slowly away, but froze in mid movement as Clint grabbed his wrist. Steve looked over, realizing Clint was wide awake and was grinning at him, a tousle-headed beauty.

"Did you seriously just try to sneak away from a master assassin ?" Clint whispered, his voice quiet from sleep, and not wanting to break the morning silence.  
He reached back with one hand, and pulled Steve back into the cuddling position he'd been trying to abandon.

"I like you there,"he whispered, pushing his hips back, causing Steve to inhale deeply and close his eyes, at the unexpected wave of lust that engulfed him. Keeping a hold of Steve, Clint shifted, rolling over so that they were facing each other.  
"I like you here too," he whispered, and moved in to kiss Steve.

They kissed gently at first, then more insistently, urgently, tongues delving deep, their hands roaming over exposed skin. Their bodies slide together, their arousal's hard between them, grinding against each other, the sensation causing Steve to gasp, and kiss Clint so hard, their teeth knock together. He rolled himself on top, Clint beneath him, kissing him desperately, when suddenly he stopped, unable to catch his breath. Clint gazed up at him, concerned, his hands holding him tight. Steve tried to breathe deeply, but his air seemed trapped, and he couldn't get a full breath.

Deep inside, he could feel the walls he'd built around his emotions, freezing his ability to feel, slowly starting to crumble, the emotions he'd bottled away threatening to break free, the thaw from his intimacy with Clint threatening to overwhelm him. He tried to pull away from Clint, hoping that the distance would help him, but Clint held tight. Steve shook his head, still unable to catch his breath, tears beginning to well up behind his eyes, and he screwed them shut to hold the tears in.

_"Stop it Captain,"_ he ordered himself inside his head, _"Pull yourself together man. You can't let yourself be seen like this."_  
_"Like what?"_ asked a small, quiet voice from the corner of his mind, the voice of a young innocent boy from Brooklyn.

_Weak._

_ Frail. _

_Timid. _

_Broken. _

_Soft. _

_Alone. _

_Sad. _

_Afraid._

_Lost._

_Forgotten._

_Unloved._

The words pounded inside his head, like hammer blows, each one weakening him.  
_Why wouldn't Clint just let him go._

He opened his eyes,tears spilling free as he became aware that Clint had moved, sitting up so that his forehead was touching Steve's, his arms holding him tightly, and he was urgently whispering to him.  
"It's okay," Clint whispered, holding Steve close.  
"I'm here. Let go. Trust me."

With those words, the walls around Steve's emotions thawed through completely, and the emotions he'd tried to lock away broke free, crashing his system, releasing all his pent up emotions in a flood.

There, in a small tent, in the middle of a wilderness, in the arms of another man Captain America, Captain Steve Rogers, finally let himself feel again for the first time since he'd been found in the ice. And he wept.

He wept for Bucky.

He wept for Peggy.

He wept for his family.

He wept for the time he had lost.

He wept for himself.

He wept in fear, in anger, in sadness, in hatred.

He wept for the man he knew he loved.

Clint held him close, rocking him gently, pulling him close, gently stroking the nape of his neck, urging him to let it out. He felt the tears in his own eyes, letting them flow free, as he comforted the lost soldier, the brave man, the great Captain, who had never let anyone see him like this.

And he knew in that moment, that he loved him.

* * *

Reviews and encouragement would be greatly appreciated ~ we're coming towards the end.


	14. Chapter 14

The morning sky was still grey, the bird song a little more raucous, when Steve's sobbing started to slow down, and then stopped. He sat up, pulling away from Clint's embrace, wiping at his tears. Clint sat back, giving him the private moment, wiping at his own face. He reached out with one hand, resting it on Steve's lower back, pressing gently. Steve turned his head towards Clint, eyes cast low, his hair disheveled, his eyelashes still wet. Clint edged himself closer, pulling the sleeping bag to keep his body covered.

"Sorry," Steve murmured, his voice hoarse, his chin hovering above his chest, refusing to make eye contact. Clint leaned forward, placing his fingers beneath Steve's chin, lifting his head, blue eyes meeting grey. "It's okay," he croaked, his own voice low and gravelly. He pulled his arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him gently down, until they were lying in the sleeping bag again, Steve cocooned in Clint's arms. Clint leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Steve's lips, gentle and reassuring. Steve relaxed, returning the kiss, and then slid down into Clint's embrace; resting his head on Clint's bare chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath, and the softness of the slightly curly hair. They lay there, in silence, savoring the intimacy between them. It was too soon for words. As the gray turned to gold, Clint shifted a little, idly pushing Steve's hair off his forehead and kissing him on his brow.

"I didn't mean to push you," Clint whispered, with Steve still nestled under his neck. He felt Steve smile into him.  
"It wasn't that, Clint. I mean it was but, it wasn't. I just felt … safe. And I trusted you – I do trust you. It just all …," Steve's voice petered off, his grip on Clint tightening slightly. "I've not been able to connect with anyone since I woke up. And being the Captain – it's not the best way to make friends. I can't show any weakness, and bottling it all up – it was just overwhelming." Steve shifted, looking up at Clint earnestly.  
"I'm really not a sappy emotional guy."  
Clint laughed softly, ruffling the Captains blonde hair, stroking the soft locks between his fingers.

"Nothing wrong with a sappy emotional guy –they're normally more honest, if a tad more dramatic. Look at Stark." Steve snorted at the comparison, a broad grin breaking across his face as he snuggled back down onto Clint's chest.  
Clint dropped another soft kiss on Steve's forehead.  
"Steve, I'm not going to lie to you, and say everything's going to be alright," Clint paused, as Steve stiffened beside him. "Relax, relax, hear me out. Everything is new right now – new century, new job – new feelings. I don't want to sit here, and tell you, that I will be here for you no matter what. I can't make that promise, because I don't know what it is you want. Right now, you're running on hormones, and excitement – two weeks from now, two months from now … do you know you'll still feel the same way?"

Steve hugged Clint a little tighter, and then shook his head. Clint returned the hug, and continued.  
"You are incredible, and I know I like you – but you need time to understand this on your terms, and not have the confusion of a relationship throwing you off. I will be here for you – as your friend, your confidante, your supporter," Clint grinned roguishly, grabbing Steve and rolling him so the younger man was lying on top of him, "and I'll even let you sleep with me in my bed, so you don't feel lonesome. But I won't be your first…and I won't be your boyfriend. Until you want me to."

Steve smiled, a tear escaping from his eyes, a tear he hastily wiped away, and smiled harder as others welled up. "You are amazing Clint. You know that? I…" Steve paused, trying to find the right words. Giving up, he scrambled forwards, and grabbed Clint, kissing him deeply, passionately, trying to convey everything he wanted to say in that kiss, like it was his first kiss and his last kiss, the kiss to save his world. And Clint understood.

It wasn't a normal beginning – but then they weren't normal people. They were two Avengers, trying to find love – and where other people had hits and misses; too much was at stake for them to dare make a mistake. Clint understood this – and Steve knew it too. But he also knew that he wasn't making a mistake.


End file.
